


(maybe) he won't find out what i know

by orphan_account



Category: Eisbrecher
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Break Up, Cheating, Choking, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Gloves, Infidelity, Just to be sure, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape, Shameless Smut, Smut, Table Sex, a bit - Freeform, actually if we think about it, alex is not nice, kind of, like you know breaking up with the person you're fucking behind your boyfriends back, so like, uhm yeah, what else, whoops spoiler, yeah this is rape fam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 07:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21504355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “What do you want?” he asks, maybe sounding a bit more irritated than he intended. He’s not aiming to upset Alex, he's just mildly unhappy about being dragged away from psyching himself up for the show.Alex quirks an eyebrow at him. “You,” he says, voice barely more than a growl. He closes the distance between them, pulls Jürgen closer by the waist.“We can’t,” Jürgen hisses, “not in the fucking dressing room, anyone could walk in –”“He won’t,” Alex says firmly, understanding Jürgen’s meaning. “Come on, Jürgs, live a little.”Or; Alex gets Jürgen to join him in the dressing room before the show for a bit of fun. Things... Don't go as planned. Read the tags.
Relationships: Jürgen Plangger/Alexx Wesselsky, Rupert Keplinger/Alexx Wesselsky
Comments: 16
Kudos: 10





	(maybe) he won't find out what i know

**Author's Note:**

> title from Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy Tonight by Fall Out Boy
> 
> again, read the tags, this is not a nice fic. otherwise, have fun fam

“Jürgen, come,” Alex says, gesturing towards the dressing rooms. Jürgen sighs, annoyed, but follows him anyway because that's how it works with Alex. You don’t say no to him. Not even when they're supposed to be on stage in half an hour and the look Alex gives him sends a message that's as far from _this is going to take two minutes_ as it gets.

He follows Alex into their dressing room and closes the door behind himself.

“What do you want?” he asks, maybe sounding a bit more irritated than he intended. He’s not aiming to upset Alex, he's just _mildly_ unhappy about being dragged away from psyching himself up for the show.

Alex quirks an eyebrow at him. “You,” he says, voice barely more than a growl. He closes the distance between them, pulls Jürgen closer by the waist.

“We can’t,” Jürgen hisses, “not in the fucking dressing room, anyone could walk in –”

“He won’t,” Alex says firmly, understanding Jürgen’s meaning. “Come on, Jürgs, live a little.”

“But I don’t _want_ to,” Jürgen counters, and tries to twist out of Alex’s grip. He notices his strategical mistake – not walking away from the door – only when Alex slams him against it, crowding into his space.

“Fuck, Alex –”

He doesn’t get any further before Alex kisses him, lips hot and urgent against Jürgen’s own. He tries to pull his head away, but again, door, so he ends up kissing back, hoping that Alex will let him go soon, that he doesn't want anything more.

Alex wants more. He unbuttons Jürgen’s shirt with impatient fingers, nearly tearing off a button or two – Jürgen would quite likely kill him if he did – and runs his hands up his sides. He’s already put on those stupid gloves he insists on wearing on stage, and Jürgen flinches at the touch of cold leather on his skin. He feels his resistance start to crumble bit by bit as Alex’s tongue pries his lips apart, slides along the line of his teeth.

Alex grabs Jürgen’s ass and pulls him close, and Jürgen’s back arches off the door as his erection grinds against Alex’s own. He manages to suppress a surprised little moan, not willing to give Alex the satisfaction of hearing him enjoying himself. Alex grins against his lips and Jürgen already knows something terrible is going to happen.

Alex grabs his thighs just under his ass and lifts him as if he doesn’t weigh a pound despite their almost equal stature. Jürgen groans as he’s pressed even harder into the door but wraps his arms and legs around Alex anyway because he’s not in the mood for falling down. Like this, Alex has the perfect angle for grinding against Jürgen and makes use of it, slowly coaxing breathy little moans out of Jürgen.

“There we go,” Alex mutters onto Jürgen’s lips at the first _proper_ moan he lets out, albeit unwittingly, and Jürgen tries really hard to suppress the urge to slap him, settles for raking his nails down the back of his head.

Alex slams him against the door again. “What did I say about marks?” he snarls, all the playfulness disappearing from his voice.

“What did I say about not wanting this?” Jürgen shoots back, then immediately thinks _uh oh_ as he feels Alex grip him tighter. Alex hates back talk.

And sure enough, Alex pulls him away from the door and fucking carries him over to the table pushed to the wall in the corner of the room. Jürgen wants to yell at him to put him down immediately because this is officially going too far, but his fear of getting caught quickly silences him. Alex sets him down on the table and starts working on his belt buckle. Jürgen reaches up to undo Alex’s tie and earns a slap on his hand and a disapproving look.

“No time,” Alex tuts... and keeps undressing him. The fucking hypocrite. Jürgen leans back onto his hands and dangles his legs like he’s having a picnic, because he has nothing to do now that Alex stopped him. Alex stands between his legs so he can’t _accidentally_ kick him in the shin, but his put-upon ease is apparently annoying enough. Alex tugs his zipper down with an aggressive jerk of his hand, shoves the front of his jeans open.

There’s a few seconds of both of them staring dumbly at Jürgen’s crotch because they should get those jeans off somehow, but him sitting is a major obstacle. Jürgen wants to laugh at Alex’s expression of deep focus, no doubt trying to get his brain to look past the fog of his lust and come up with a solution. There’s an _a-ha!_ kind of sparkle in Alex’s eyes and he pulls Jürgen off the table as he steps back a little. They’re kind of back in the same position that they had with the door (but now it's the table he's pressed against), and Jürgen can’t help but roll his eyes at it, getting tired of being pushed into things.

“Turn around,” Alex grunts, and when Jürgen just gives him an assholish grin and does not budge, he grabs him by the hips and turns him around himself. Jürgen exhales sharply as Alex pushes his chest down onto the table, but doesn’t fight it. He folds his arms and rests his head on them, waits for Alex to do… whatever he wants to do, basically. He's as good as given up on getting away now that he's hard and kind of into it, and just hopes that Alex will be quick about it.

Alex yanks Jürgen’s jeans and underwear down to his knees, and nudges his legs apart so they’re spread just the way he wants them. In a surprising moment of honesty Jürgen admits to himself that yes, this is his favourite thing about messing around with Alex: being pushed around. Because as much as he doesn’t appreciate it _right now_ , it is one of his biggest turn-ons. Fuck Alex for knowing his body so well.

Gloved hands cup his ass and Jürgen can’t help it but gasp from the foreign sensation of it, the way the rasp of the seams of the glove and the glide of the smooth, worn-out leather alternate on his skin. Alex chuckles above him, a dark little sound that Jürgen should not find hot, but does anyway. Alex pulls his hands away because he’s an asshole, and Jürgen whines a little because they felt nice and he wants them back, damn it.

He hears the unmistakable sound of a lube packet being torn open and grins, thinks _finally_ because if he’s being taken advantage of then he expects to have his fun in the very least. For a few seconds the only sounds in the room are Alex’s laboured breathing and the quiet, slick sounds of the lube he’s spreading on his fingers. Jürgen holds his breath until he feels a finger against his entrance and –

“Stop!” he yells, and pushes himself off the table. Alex pushes him back down with a firm hand. “Are you still wearing your fucking glove?”

“Yeah,” Alex replies nonchalantly, “didn’t want to waste time taking it off. Problem?”

“Yeah?” Jürgen asks, borderline hysterical, “That’s so fucking unhygienic, what the fuck?”

Alex laughs at him, but there’s no warmth in it. His free hand is still pushing Jürgen into the table, damn near crushing his ribs, and Jürgen can’t get away, no matter how much he squirms.

He yelps as Alex thrusts two fingers into his hole at the same time, and it's sheer dumb luck that he manages to bite back a much louder scream. If he could move he would turn around to glare at Alex, if he wasn’t so afraid of getting caught he would shout and curse at him, but as things are he just stays there, bare chest flat against the uncomfortably cold table and eyes screwed shut from the way too sudden stretch.

The worst part is that the knowledge that Alex doesn’t care about him just turns him on even more, despite it being a messed up and uncomfortable idea. He knows that he can kick and scream and plead and cry and Alex would still hold him down and fuck him the way he pleased. And somewhere deep inside he likes it.

As he gets used to the stretch he gradually manages to relax, until he’s not lowkey panicking and can focus on what Alex is doing to him. By now he knows how Alex’s fingers usually feel inside him, and this is completely different. The leather is softer and rougher than skin at the same time, which is a weird, indescribable sensation but it’s also borderline addictive. It warms up inside him gradually, and as it does the discomfort fades even more, until nothing is left but pleasure.

Jürgen pants against his own forearms as Alex adds a third finger and stretches him even more. Just the feeling of the glove itself is making him go crazy, but the thoughts his mind supplies, about Alex not caring enough to even take off his gloves, about not wanting to spend such effort on Jürgen, well, those thoughts only fuel the fire, and he bites a scream in half as Alex hits his prostate with a particularly strong thrust; sinks his teeth into the flesh of his arm to keep quiet.

“Enjoying yourself, baby?” Alex purrs, curling his fingers a little.

“Don’t call me baby,” Jürgen snarls, mustering all the venom he can in this state, “I’m not your fucking boyfriend.”

Alex’s hand slips from his back to the nape of his neck, pressing it down as he leans in to whisper into Jürgen’s ear, voice turning colder than ice in a matter of seconds.

“Damn right you’re not,” he rasps, “and you could never be as good as him.”

“Then why are you cheating on him with me?" Jürgen bites back, blunt and cruel, "If he's so perfect? Is Rupert not enough for you, Alex? If you’re so fucking proud of having him then why are we doing this?” The grip on his neck turns punishing and his vision starts to blur as Alex’s fingers press into his artery, but he doesn’t give up. “Maybe I should tell him! Imagine it! ‘Hey Rupert, guess what, your boyfriend is fucking me on the side! Anyway, have a good time playing tonight!’ I’m sure he’d love th –”

“Shut the fuck up!” Alex screams, and yanks his fingers out of Jürgen’s hole. He gasps at the sudden movement and clenches around thin air, waiting for _something_. When nothing happens for a few moments and there's only Alex's hand holding him down by the neck and the sounds of him panting roughly, Jürgen has enough of being left hanging.

“Oh, this is it?” he asks, “your big punishment? You won’t fuck me because I brought up Rupert?”

Alex grabs him by the back of his neck and drags him up from the table like a stray kitten, spins him around and forces him down to the ground until he’s kneeling at Alex’s feet. Jürgen is torn between relief that he’s off the fucking table and the half-thought that’s wondering if he should be afraid, the stormy look in Alex's eyes promising only pain.

“I was going to,” Alex grunts, undoing his belt and fly with one hand, “but you can’t seem to shut your big fucking mouth so I’ll use that instead.”

He grabs Jürgen’s jaw with his free hand and forces his mouth open. Jürgen fights back, disgusted by the lube smearing across his face and because Alex can’t be fucking serious about this. He’ll have to sing in ten minutes for fuck's sake – he tries to tell Alex to stop, again, but he can’t talk with that hand keeping him wide open by the jaws.

Alex thrusts into his mouth with one swift move, the head of his cock hitting the back of Jürgen’s throat, making him gag immediately. Alex pulls back and Jürgen inhales sharply, forces the tears in his eyes not to spill over.

He realizes his hands are finally somewhat useful in this position and makes sure to use them as Alex fucks his throat mercilessly, claws at his thighs and abdomen, although to little avail. Alex is still wearing all his clothes and probably barely feels anything of it, which is almost as terrible as this. Jürgen doesn’t even attempt to push him away, the grip on his jaw too strong to risk it, fears that Alex would just pull him along. As Alex keeps his pace up, he gradually gives up on fighting it, resolves to just kneeling there and taking it until it’s over.

_(_ A little part of him, the one that still can't call this clusterfuck what it really is, what it turned into after he said _stop_ for the very first time, blames himself. He did bring up Rupert after all. But, and this is what he tells himself to shut down this absurd train of thought, that still doesn't excuse what Alex is doing right now.)

He feels Alex’s other hand fist into his hair, holding him in place firmly, making it practically impossible for Jürgen to move his head. His thrusts become erratic and send Jürgen into bouts of gagging and choking with no time to gain his breath back again. There are tears rolling down his cheeks but it's no use trying to wipe them away, there's only more to come, so he just kneels there as Alex uses his mouth as he pleases.

Alex’s breaths grow sharper as his thrusts speed up, and Jürgen’s eyes widen as he realizes a moment too late what’s about to happen. Alex buries himself deep in Jürgen’s throat and comes with a loud groan that sounds like a garbled rendition of Jürgen's name. Thick ropes of come hit the back of Jürgen’s throat and he chokes, taken by surprise. Alex pulls out and pushes Jürgen’s head away at the same time, tucks himself back into his underpants as Jürgen slumps into a mess at his feet, choking on Alex’s come and his own snot and tears, barely breathing. He can hardly keep his eyes open, much less look up at Alex; only does so when the pair of black gloves hit the concrete floor right in front of him, making him flinch.

“Get rid of these,” Alex commands, “I’ll go find my spare pair. And pull yourself together, we’re up in ten minutes.”

Jürgen tries to answer, but there’s only a pathetic, choppy rasp left of his voice. Alex huffs an amused-angry breath when he hears it. Jürgen can see his black boots, sees him walk to the door and stop there. He raises his head just enough to look at Alex.

“This is the last time this happens,” Alex says with a strict voice, hand resting on the doorknob, “we’re done.”

_No fucking shit we are,_ Jürgen thinks angrily, _you think I would want to touch you again after what you’ve done to me?_

When Jürgen doesn't react verbally, Alex finally leaves. Jürgen winces as the door slams shut behind him with a loud sound, and realizes he’ll have to clean himself up really, really quickly if he doesn’t want anyone to come looking after him.

He pulls his pants up and tucks himself away. (He's slightly frustrated that he didn’t get to come after Alex brought him so close to the edge, but he’s not too heartbroken about it, his erection having disappeared completely over the past minutes. He would need to have a few words with himself if the opposite was the case.) He cleans the spit and come off the floor with paper tissues and throws them in the trash along with Alex’s gloves because he doesn’t give a fuck about anything anymore. He washes his face and wills himself to stop fucking crying because that won't help him now, will it.

He makes it back to the others just in time, and besides Noel giving him a questioning once-over, no one asks anything. He grabs his guitar and puts in his earpiece, and tries not to look bitter (or start to cry again) as he sees Alex kissing Rupert and ruffling his hair with a fond smile. For a second, he wants to break both of their noses.

“You alright?” Noel asks him quietly, eyes flicking back and forth between Alex and Jürgen, “did you guys fight?”

“You could say that,” Jürgen manages, and winces as his voice breaks on the _a_ of _say_.

“I see,” Noel says quietly. There's a strange kind of sympathy in his eyes that makes Jürgen wonder how much he knows.

"Honey and tea," he adds quietly, like an afterthought, "for your throat, I mean."

"Thanks," Jürgen croaks, and doesn't fucking cry. Or like, turns away so Noel can't see the tears in his eyes.

He takes a deep breath and lets himself zone out completely. He's okay. From now until they come off stage again, he’s okay.

**Author's Note:**

> uh yeah  
> i'm actually not as satisfied with this as i thought i would be, could have turned out better, but this is a learning experience, am i right?  
> comments and kudos much appreciated, also check me out on tumblr as @cardinalxsin if you wanna idk hang  
> all my uwus to you, dear reader


End file.
